


I Gave You My Heart and I Don't Want it Back

by 221blackandwhitestripes



Series: What Always Comes Too Late? [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chief of Staff Edward Nygma, Flashbacks, M/M, Mayor Oswald Cobblepot, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Power Play, Rating May Change, Season/Series 03, Sequel, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24180304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/pseuds/221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: Oswald knows everything. And he loves him.He just doesn't like him.Sequel fic toSeizing My Guts (He Floats Me With Dread)
Relationships: Edward Nygma & Leslie Thompkins, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: What Always Comes Too Late? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532993
Comments: 24
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya everyone.
> 
> I gotta be honest, this fic will really be "make it up as I go along". But the one thing I was sure about was this chapter and how I wanted to start this sequel.
> 
> For context, I'd say it's been 1 or 2 months since Oswald found out the truth.
> 
> I don't know what else to say except I hope this goes well and you like this first chapter.
> 
> QUICK WARNING:  
> This chapter does include a detailed scene of a horrible experience with a therapist. If that's triggering to you, feel free to skip the scene with Dr. Andrews and go to the next set of ♠ ♠ ♠

_What always comes too late?_

Ed sighed, tapping a rhythm with his fingertips against the tabletop.

“If you’ve finished your breakfast, Edward,” Oswald’s gaze didn’t waver from the newspaper, his long nose well stuck-in, “You are more than welcome to leave the table.”

Ed cleared his throat. “I was actually hoping to talk to you about something.”

Oswald hummed low in his throat, turning the page.

“Something very important,” he clarified.

“Have you seen this article about the Court of Owls business? They misquoted me rather atrociously.”

“Oswald!” Ed grit his teeth, waiting for Oswald to _pay attention, for goodness sake._

“Yes, Ed.” Oswald calmly folded the newspaper, putting it to the side. “Or, rather; no, Ed.”

“No?” Ed shook his head. “What do you mean?”

Oswald plucked the toast from his plate, smearing marmalade across his lip as he took a bite. Ed momentarily considered the stab to his heart he would earn if he were to lick it off. “You wish to reopen the discussion of our evolving relationship, correct?”

“I…” He cleared his throat again, “Yes.” It was true; Ed had thought of nothing else for weeks on end.

Oswald nodded, taking another bite and swallowing before setting the toast down, licking his lip clean. _That was supposed to be my job._ Ed clenched his fists. “Ed, the answer is the same as it has been the last…” He waggled his fingers, “However many times you’ve asked.”

“Seventeen.”

“The last seventeen times you’ve asked.” Oswald leant back, cocking his head. “No, I am not going to enter a romantic _or_ sexual relationship with you. No, there isn’t anything you can do to change my mind. No, I am not going to kill you. And yes, we can still be friends.”

Ed scowled down at his oatmeal. “You are an unreasonable man.”

Oswald snorted. “Sticks and stones, my _friend_. Why don’t you go upstairs and change that tie? It’s tacky.”

Ed lifted his tie, frowning at it. “I thought you told me that stripes were in.”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “Not _zebra_ stripes, Ed. Anyone with any sense knows that.” Dammit. No wonder Oswald said no to him today. And he’d tried so hard to look nice for him, too.

“I’ll be back.” He rose from the table and went to go fix his mistakes. If only he could fix all of them.

“Try the navy blue one. It’s less…” Oswald shrugged, “Hideous.”

“The point has been made.” He quickly fastened his jacket and left the room.

Eighteen times. He’d asked him _eighteen_ times. Each answer was no. Well, enough was enough. No more chances, no more begging. 

Ed checked his watch. He was due to meet Strange at 1:30pm. After that, everything would be changed.

♠ ♠ ♠

“Hello there, Edward.” Strange’s distinctive purr greeted him as he walked through the door of Café La Trahison. He looked to the left to see the professor sitting at a two-seat table by the window. “Join me.”

Ed rolled his eyes, pulling out the empty chair to take a seat. “Why did we have to meet here again?”

“Mr. Nygma,” Strange purred, shaking his head. What a condescending b– “You know that I’m entitled as anyone to some modicum of privacy.”

“So you just don’t want me to see your new lab.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to see it anyway when we go to the machine to–”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Strange waggled his finger, “I don’t recall ever saying that.”

“Excuse me?” Ed shifted his jacket, the gun stuck down the back of his trousers rubbing uncomfortably. “Then why exactly are we meeting today?”

“You organized the meeting, Mr. Nygma,” Strange set his elbows on the table, poising his fingers, “You tell me.”

“I–” Ed shook his head, “I need to go back because–because _you_ messed it up the first time!”

Strange hummed low in the back of his throat. “Why is that, Mr. Nygma?”

He sniffed. “Oswald doesn’t–” Wait, “It’s none of your business!” He reached behind to draw his gun, pressing it to Strange’s kneecap beneath the table. “Just take me to the machine.”

“Oh, but Mr. Nygma, I’m afraid I don’t have it anymore.”

“ _What?_ ” He shrieked, springing around like a mousetrap when he felt a tap to his shoulder. 

“Hello sir, I am your server–”

“Leave us alone!” He pressed the tip of the gun to the man’s temple, blinking and fighting the familiar visual of Oswald’s _gasp_ , his fingers clutching the wound, the stumble, the fall.

_I love you. But I don’t like you._

The server rolled his eyes, unfazed. “You have to order something, sir.”

“He’ll have a chamomile tea,” Strange interrupted. “His nerves are rather frayed.”

“Are not!” Ed swung the gun around to him instead.

Strange raised his arms. “Just hot water for me.”

“Yes, sir.” The server left the table.

Strange quirked his brow. “Are you going to lower your gun?”

“I thought we were going to _fix_ things,” Ed seethed. Why did everyone keep betraying him?

“Mr. Nygma, we _have_ fixed things.” Strange smirked. “We’ve exposed the Court of Owls _and_ your precious Mayor is alive.”

“Yes, but he isn’t–” Ed clenched his teeth. Clicked off the safety. Pressed the tip to Strange’s perspiring forehead. “Where’s the time machine?”

“Sir!” The server returned to the table. “For the purpose of a calm and enjoyable dining experience, I must ask you that you keep the safety engaged on your gun at all times.”

“Then how am I supposed to shoot him?” Ed hissed at him over his shoulder.

The server sighed as if the answer was obvious. “Take him outside.”

Ed rolled his eyes, flicking the safety back on and placing the gun on the table, the tip still facing Strange. “Where’s the machine, Strange?

“Out of my hands.” He shrugged. “I sold it.”

“You _sold_ it?”

“I told you all those months ago that I would do exactly that. It went to the highest bidder three days ago.”

“Who bought it?” He grabbed the gun, flicking the safety off as he pressed it to Strange’s temple– _the blood, his gasp, “get away from me”_ – “Tell me who bought it!”

Strange scoffed. “I can hardly–”

“Tell me!” He spat.

“Sir, you have to keep the safety–”

“I will shoot you too!” He pointed the gun at the server, not taking his eyes off Strange. “Who bought it?”

A smirk played at the corner of his lips. “It was an anonymous buyer.”

“Stop lying and tell me!” He slammed the table with his hand. “I know you know.”

Strange leaned back in his chair. “I am forbidden to speak the name of course.” He tilted his head. “But perhaps with a little more funds behind my next project, I’d be able to… write it down.”

Ed dipped into his wallet, pulled out a hundred and slid it next to his napkin. “Please.”

Strange scribbled something down, swapping it with the bill. Ed took the napkin.

“Oh _no_.”

The napkin crumpled in his fist.

♠ ♠ ♠

“You bought the time machine?!”

“Hello to you too.” Oswald didn’t look up from the papers strewn across his Mayoral desk.

“Don’t play games with me, Oswald,” Ed snapped. The room was hazy, his eyes stinging and his fists clenched as he tried to breathe. “Why would you do this?”

“Really, Ed?” Oswald rolled his eyes, “You have to ask me that?”

“Oswald, you know I’m sorry, I’ve said it a million times, I’ll say it right now; I’m–”

“I know, Ed.” There was something about him right now – something that made it seem like this was everything Oswald had wanted but he hated every second of it all the same.

“Oswald, I just want you–” 

“We don’t always get what we want, Ed,” he snapped, his glare fresh and raw like a not-quite healed wound. “And you know perfectly well why I took the time machine. I couldn’t very well let you go back and change everything. You’ve made your mistakes. Accept them and move on.”

_Accept them and move on._

Ed let himself slump back against the door as he dragged his fingers up beneath his glasses, humming low under his breath. Everything was so… so _much_. Ever since he’d turned back the clock, everything was so… He felt so… 

Oswald sighed, clicking his pen against the desk. “Are we done here? Friend?”

So _helpless._

Ed swallowed. “Would you mind if I take the rest of the day to…” He cleared his throat, struggling to finish.

“Whatever, Ed. I’ll see you for dinner back home.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Of course.”

He walked himself out of Oswald’s office and down the city hall’s grand staircase, taking it two steps at a time. He needed air, to _breathe,_ to remind himself that… that he was alive and real and solid. He felt like he was floating, or sinking, wading through Gotham’s paved streets in an attempt to keep moving.

He must have walked for a solid hour because he suddenly found himself in a dangerously familiar part of the city, the crumbling pavement and dirty bricks an echo of something he’d once found solace in.

He checked his watch. He had time.

♠ ♠ ♠

Cherry’s was much as he remembered it; exposed pipes and brick, smears of blood on the alcohol crusted floor that threatened to stick to Ed’s shoes with every step.

He walked up to the bar, feeling a wash of déja vu douse him as he leaned against the countertop.

“If you’re lookin’ for the fancy stuff, you’ve come to the wrong place,” the bartender said, her stringy red hair pinned up away from her face.

“I’m actually trying to find somebody.” Ed’s face automatically screwed up as he realized his suit jacket had begun to stick to the countertop where he’d leant his arms against it. “Um…” He pulled his arms back towards himself, shuddering at the tacky sound, “Do you know where the Doc is?”

“You a cop?” She snatched a glass from beneath the counter, fitting it under the tap.

“Honestly, I think I’m about as far from a cop as you can get,” he replied, pressing his fingers beneath his glasses, into his eyes and up to his temples. “I just wanna see the doc. We’re old friends.”

“Really?” She snorted before gulping her freshly poured beer down and burping tremendously. “How the fuck did you two meet?”

“Uhh…” He bit his tongue, considering. “It’s, erm, complicated.”

“I’ll bet,” she snorted. “I wouldn’t have thought you were his type at all.”

He blinked, swallowing. “What?” 

“Doc’s down the hall under those stairs. Be careful, though. Keeps his dog with him and it’s a biter.” She laughed roughly, fitting her glass beneath the tap again.

“The Doc’s a… man?” Ed frowned.

“As far as I know,” The bartender confirmed, restraining herself to only _sip_ her beer this time. “I wouldn’t wanna make any assumptions though.”

“Sorry, I thought,” Ed shook his head. Darn. “I… my friend is a woman. I thought she worked here.”

“Well, sucks for you.” She took another gulp of her beer. “So… wanna drink?”

“I’d better not,” Ed hastily declined, “Thanks all the same.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and tipped her head back to swallow the rest of her beer. “Good luck finding your friend.”

“Yes.” And he hastily turned tail, eager to remove himself from the sticky atmosphere that seemed to cling to him from every surface.

He had to walk for another hour before he felt he was a safe distance away from the Narrows to call a cab without getting threatened with a knife or something.

“Where’ya headed?” The cab driver asked as he got in.

“Um…” To be honest, he had no clue. He needed to find Dr. Thompkins, but he couldn’t remember for the life of him where she might be staying at this point in time. He sighed, dragging his hand over his face. Well, there was _one_ person who would know where she was. “Take me to the GCPD station. Downtown.”

“Kay, sir.”

♠ ♠ ♠

After a moment of thought, Ed decided to take a trip around the block and enter the station through the carpark. As much as he enjoyed making scenes, they weren’t often appreciated by the certain detective he was hoping to sway.

He slipped inside, going up the back staircase to the second floor. He spied Detective Gordon’s desk, unfortunately empty, but he could wait in the shadows until he returned.

Fortunately, someone else seemed to be looking for dear Jimmy-boy as well.

“Alvarez, do you know where Jim is?” Lee: standing there with files tucked under her arm, a tired yet determined look in her eyes. Ed almost did a double take at how normal she looked. He’d grown used to the eyeliner, the fringe, the black leather boots. One might say he almost missed it.

Lee was heading his way and in a nano-second judgement, he stepped out of the shadows to face her.

“Dr. Thompkins.”

She flinched, stepping back before clearly registering his face and glowering. “Nygma.” She sighed. “I suppose there always was a chance today _could_ get worse.”

Oh. He hadn’t quite expected her to say that. “I’m sorry if your day was terrible.” He frowned as she snorted, but continued anyway, “I’m afraid that I need your help with a personal matter which I would like to discuss with you privately.”

She sighed again, shifting the files in her arms. “Look, Nygma, I’m tired and I want to go home, so either kill me or kidnap me or whatever it is you want me to do, or just leave me _alone_.”

Ed frowned. He felt… sad? Sad that Lee was tired. Sad that she’d had a bad day. He didn’t want that for her. “How about,” he cleared his throat, “How about I take those for you,” he gestured to the files, “And then we can sit down and have a cup of tea, just like…” _old times,_ “Just the way you like.”

Lee frowned, pulling the files closer to her chest, and he was sure she was about to say no, but her expression suddenly changed, a release of tension in her brow as she sighed. “Alright.” She handed the files over, relenting. “But I mean it; I’m not in the mood for any bullshit.”

Ed balanced the files in his arms easily. “I’ll try not to disappoint.” 

They walked together down to the M.E. Lab, the corridors of the GCPD station overly familiar in an uncomfortably itchy way that set Ed’s teeth on edge. 

“You know, you’re really different to last time we met,” Lee said as they walked. Ed could feel her eyeing him distrustfully, and knew he probably deserved it. “I’m not saying I don’t like the improvement but… what happened?”

Ed smiled because he liked this side of Lee, how she found it in herself to give people the benefit of the doubt, a second chance, even _him._ “It’s a really long story. But it’s why I’m here.” 

They reached the M.E. Lab and Lee opened the door for him and they slipped inside. Ed was hit by a flash of colour as he remembered standing in this room, staring at a corpse that should never have been a corpse and thankfully wasn’t one any longer.

“Ed?” Lee’s voice cut through his skull, buzzing like a chainsaw.

“Uh, yes, sorry.” Cavernous black spilling from gashed lips flashed before his eyes, keeping his mind encased in shadow. “Um…”

“Do you want to sit down?” His heart was thudding, threatening to rot inside his chest, and he couldn’t do a thing, only shake in his ankles.

“No, no, I–” He blinked, trying to focus on Lee’s wavering smile, “I was going to make _tea_.”

“I think I can manage tea, Ed.” He flinched as hands clutched his shoulders, but it was only Lee, _it’s only Lee_. “Sit here.” And he did, sinking onto a stool that could’ve appeared from nowhere for all he knew.

“Ed, would you like to focus on your breathing for me?”

“Huh?” Things were swimming.

“Place one hand on your chest and the other on your stomach. Try to push your stomach out with each inhale, and feel how it deflates with each exhale.” Ed nodded, pressing his hands into place, focusing on the feeling of expansion and deflation in his chest, as if he were a child’s balloon, pulled between states of inflation.

He focused on a smear on the floor and felt a release as the world stopped vibrating. “Sorry,” he muttered. Lee didn’t reply, the distinct sounds of crockery and an electric kettle shifting around the only confirmation she was still in the room. Soon, she appeared in his peripheral vision, placing a cup on the table behind him.

“You know, Ed,” she pulled out a stool, sitting across from him with her legs crossed and it was so comfortingly familiar he felt more of the strain in his lungs ease, “I might not be an expert in these things, but I spent enough time in Arkham to know that something happened back there.” She took a sip of her tea and it was like time hadn’t been tampered with at all. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ed licked his lips. “I doubt you’d believe me if I did.”

“Not to generalize the situation, but I’m pretty sure people in your situation deserve the benefit of the doubt. You’re clearly upset about something.” She shifted minutely, her gaze flicking away. “Although you don’t have to tell me. Especially since our history is…” She cleared her throat. “In fact, it’s probably not right at all.”

“No!” Ed immediately withdrew, embarrassed by his exclamation but determined to continue all the same, “No, I want to talk to you. I trust you.”

“You trust _me?_ ” Lee’s face twisted. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but–”

“Sorry, I know, I _know_ ,” Ed words started twisting together, tangling like intestines in a bowl, “And I know you don’t trust me. But just…” He shrugged, wincing, “Just hear me out.”

And Lee, ever generous Lee nodded.

Ed took a deep breath and began. “I did something. And it caused a lot of things to go wrong but the gist of it is that when I realized all the problems I caused by doing that something, I decided to fix it. And to do that I ended up going back in time and changing what I’d done. I basically created a new timeline and this is it.”

Lee’s eyebrows were scraping her hairline. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Ed winced, “I’d hoped saying out loud would somehow make it less contrived but… no. Still ridiculous.”

Lee sighed. “Can you at least tell me what this has to do with…” She gestured at the room, “Everything?”

“Ah, yes, well,” Ed picked up his cup of tea only to have something to do with his hands, “The bad thing I did happened to lead me here a few times, and the times I was here weren’t so pleasant I guess. It also led me to you, and you helped me out a bit with it, which was very nice of you, and–”

“Ed,” Lee raised her hand from her cup, “You’re going to need to give me more details than that.”

“Ah.” Ed bit his tongue. “Right.”

Lee nodded.

Ed nodded back.

Lee waved her hand for him to continue.

Ed looked down at his tea.

“Ed!” She finally groaned.

“Fine!” He exclaimed in return, his gaze quickly retreating to his tea once more. “I killed Oswald.”

“What?”

“I killed Oswald!” He finally yelled, his heart tumbling down a staircase of beats.

“Um, _what?_ ” Lee almost laughed. “I thought he was your boyfriend.”

“Well, look at _you_ , Miss Up-to-date gossiper,” Ed hissed, clutching his tea closer. “It just so happens we weren’t together at the time.”

“ _Why_ did you do it?” She shook her head.

“Be _cause_ ,” Ed smacked his lips, “He killed my girlfriend.”

Lee paused for a moment, a frown on her face as she mulled it over before speaking again. “Are you sure it was _him_ who killed your girlfriend, or–”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Ed growled. “He confessed to it and everything.”

“Okay, okay.” Lee rolled her eyes and took another sip of tea. “But I don’t get it. How did killing Oswald – or not killing him – change everything?”

“Well…” Ed tilted his head. “That may not have been the only contributing factor. You see, there was this Court of Owls that basically tried to destroy Gotham, and you somehow helped that happen, or maybe you stopped it? Jim was involved somehow, I don’t really know much about it.”

Lee blinked. “I think I got lost in there somewhere.”

“To be honest, I don’t blame you.” Ed sighed. “It doesn’t matter much now. As far as we know, the Court’s been eliminated. So that won’t be happening again.”

“Good?” Lee quirked her brows and Ed shrugged back. She swallowed her tea. “So, how did we find each other?”

“It was a coincidence really.” Ed sipped his own tea before continuing. “You were working as a doctor at a fight club in exchange for funds and a facility to run your own clinic in the Narrows.”

“I was working in the Narrows?” Lee frowned.

“You actually seemed kinda happy there.” Ed lifted a shoulder. “You were healing people again. You said that being able to see the difference you were making was what made it worth it. I suppose it was “rewarding” or something.” He sniffed. “You were always sappy like that.”

“You’re really criticizing me on this?” Lee snorted.

Ed frowned. “...No?”

Lee chuckled. “So you came to this fight club and we just… magically became friends?”

“Oh, certainly not,” Ed shook his head emphatically, “You hated me.”

Lee tilted her head. “I can see where I was coming from.”

“Anyway,” Ed bit his tongue as he forced himself to look back, “I… I wasn’t doing so well after what I’d done. There was a lot happening at the time and… and even though I’m sure I could’ve dealt with it on my own,” He sniffed, clutching his tea tightly, “It just so happened that one day I asked you for help. And you happened to be willing to do that.”

“So that’s what this is?” Lee gestured between them. “You asking for help?”

Ed frowned. “I wouldn’t say that! It’s more of an… inquiry… into your willingness to… participate in an exercise of… guidance and assistance?”

“So asking for help.” Lee nodded and Ed sighed.

“You don’t have to. Especially if you’re going to make fun of me.”

Lee shrugged. “Well, Ed, to be honest, you’re the last person I wanna help right now.” Right. He should have seen that one coming. He nodded, trying to feign some sense of humbleness he surely didn’t feel. “Which–” He glanced up, meeting her gaze, “–Is probably why it’s a surprise to even myself that I have to say… Yes. Yes, I will help you.”

Ed smiled. “That means more than you know.”

♠ ♠ ♠

Unfortunately for Ed, Lee had a different idea of how she’d be helping him this time.

“I promise you, Ed, it’s just too complicated between you and me,” she shrugged, “I have no idea why the other me allowed it.”

“Does it matter?” Tension was slowly beginning to root in his muscles as the thought of going through everything with a stranger began to churn through his mind. “You helped me! I felt…” he glanced away, embarrassed, “Safe? With you.”

Lee sighed. “I’m sorry, Ed, but I’m not trained in this sort of thing. I admit, I’ve thought about it a couple times, but that’s not the same as going through the actual education of everything.” She smiled, that smile that meant she was trying to make him feel better even as she let him down. “I’m glad I helped you in that other timeline. But I don’t think I could do it again. At least, I want you to give proper therapy a try. Could you do that?”

Ed turned the tea cup in his hands round in circles, the china long since gone cold. “Yes. I can try that.”

♠ ♠ ♠

“I need to ask you something.”

“Really, Ed, no hello?” Oswald admonished, not standing up from his place at the head of the table. “You’re late, by the way.”

“I know, but it’s not important, I need to talk to you about something.” He refused to back down from this.

“Fine,” Oswald flicked his fingers at him, “Proceed. Don’t mind me if I finish my first course while you speak.”

“Go ahead.” Ed pulled out the chair next to him and sat, clenching his hands together in his lap. “The thing is, Oswald…”

Oswald’s pretty eyes blinked up at him.

“ _IthinkIneedcounsellingandI’mseeingsomeoneonThursday_.” Ed gasped in relief. Thank god that was over. “I just thought you should know.”

Oswald smiled, licking a spot of soup from his lips temptingly. “Thank you for telling me. But I refuse to let you pay. It’s only right that I do.”

Ed blinked. “Um, sure. Yes, that’s alright with me.”

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion.” Oswald smirked before returning to his soup. And, for whatever reason, Ed found himself smiling.

Maybe there was hope after all.

♠ ♠ ♠

“Edward Nygma?”

“Yes.” Ed stood, his chest tightening.

“Follow me.” The man smiled and turned, directing him down the hallway into a large office complete with a couch and two chairs. “Sit anywhere you like.”

Ed paused. Was this a test? Could the stranger guess whether he had some kind of psychotic issue from where he sat?

“Take as much time as you need.” Which meant _hurry up_. Ed quickly sat down in the chair next to the window before instantly regretting it. But he couldn’t change now! It would seem weird!

Goodness, why hadn’t Lee warned him how difficult this would be? It was completely different from Arkham where the closest thing that came to treatment was “Scream therapy”. Here, the spotlight was entirely fixed on him, the light all too bright, not shining on his skills and superior knowledge but instead on every squirming flaw, buzzing around him like flies.

At last, the man sat down, clearing his throat. “Hello, Edward.” It took several seconds to realize he expected a reply.

“Hi.”

“My name is Dr. Andrews,” he continued. “To tell you a little bit about myself, I am a trained Cognitive Behavioural Therapist. I work mainly with adults who are experiencing trouble on a regular basis due to an issue with their mental health. I earned my diploma in CBT at Gotham University.”

“Oh, interesting, I went to GCU,” Ed added because he hadn’t talked in a while.

“That is interesting,” Dr. Andrews affirmed, “How was your time there?”

“Oh, no, umm…” Ed flushed, “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about today.”

“Do you often have trouble talking about your past?”

“No, no!” Ed rushed to say. “It’s just… not what I want to focus on.” Okay, well, maybe he had a little trouble talking about his past, but it wasn’t relevant right now. Unless it was? Oh dear.

“Well,” Ed watched the doctor clasp his hands in his lap, “That brings us to the next part of our meeting: Why you’re here.”

“Yes.” Ed nodded.

The doctor nodded back.

“Oh, you want me to…”

“Take as much time as you need.” The doctor smiled again.

“Right well,” Ed cleared his throat, “Where to start?”

“You can start wherever you like and we can work forward from there.”

“Yes, thank you,” Ed forced a smile, “Okay, so, to begin with, I have this best friend called Oswald.”

“Yes.” Dr. Andrews suddenly produced a pen and notepad from a drawer in his desk.

“This thing happened.” Ed was struggling for words, feeling his chest tighten as the doctor examined him, looking up from his notepad with piercing intrigue. “Um, it was an alternate timeline basically. I killed my friend, and then there was this… this _plague_ of sorts, with a virus. Oh, and I kept seeing my dead friend following me and dripping water. Because I dumped him in the river. And then I was pretending I wasn’t in love with him, but then I saw his corpse and I think I sort of knew I loved him, and then the hallucinations were getting rather unnerving, but my friend Lee was helping me. But then I undid it all and everything was sort of fine except it’s not because I lied for a bit to my friend and now he doesn’t want to be with me and it’s all just…” Ed gasped for breath, his tongue having run a mile. The doctor raised an eyebrow, perhaps waiting for him to finish. “...Confusing.”

Slowly, as if he were attempting not to startle some wild dog, Dr. Andrews pushed his notepad to the side and steepled his fingers. “Mr. Nygma, may I ask you a question?”

Ed swallowed dryly. “Yes?”

“Do you ever find yourself telling lies or fabricated tales without thinking about it beforehand?”

“Y-you’re calling me a liar?” And it’s a question because he can’t quite believe it and he finds his stomach shrivelling in on itself, black ink in his heart.

“It is not an accusation, nor would I blame you. Some people can’t help but tell lies. There is no fault to it.”

Ed’s lips twitched, toes curling as he dug his nails into his palms. Through gritted teeth, he said, “For your information, I happen to think through all of my lies thoroughly. Like most people. And, what I just told you, is not a lie.”

Dr. Andrews nodded. “Thank you for your honesty.” Ed flinched; he might as well have _spat_ at him. “Can I ask you another question?”

“Isn’t that what you do?” Ed flashed his teeth as blood vessels popped in his palms.

“Do you often have trouble distinguishing fact from fiction?” He tilted his head. “Or perhaps you find yourself seeing or hearing things that others can’t hear or see.”

“You don’t believe me,” Ed concluded. They both knew it.

“I am sure there is some logical explanation for this,” Dr. Andrews offered.

“Could it be that it’s true?” Ed hissed.

“Now, Mr. Nygma, I assure you there is no need to be defensive, I’m here to help you.”

“Yes, well, your _help_ isn’t so helpful.” Ed found himself standing, all the muscles in his body taught as his breaths rushed like the chugs of a train. “I don’t think this would work.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Nygma?”

“I’m sure.” He spat, turning and taking himself out of the office as fast as his legs could take him.

♠ ♠ ♠

Ed didn’t know why, but when he returned to the Manor and fled up the stairs to his bedroom he found tears pushing themselves from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks like mocking reminders of gravity just before he hit his bed face-down. He screamed into his pillow and felt like maybe he was losing it because that man didn’t _matter_ , could never matter, and it made no sense to care. He was Edward Nygma for goodness sakes, the fearsome Riddler in another lifetime.

If the world were right at all, that man would’ve quaked in his Nike sneakers to accuse him of such things. And he was _wrong_. Ed knew what happened, he was certain of it. He may have the odd hallucination now again, but he’s _never_ dreamt something up as crazy as the truth. It would take an absolute madman to do that.

Ed sighed, sitting up. He would not sulk. He was an adult man, not controlled by the nuisance that is emotions. He glanced at the mirror and threw his reflection a smirk. He was cold and confident, a logician not to be trifled with. He’d killed some of Gotham’s brightest stars, and if they still walked today, it didn’t take away what he’d done, the power at his disposal. He could do anything and get away with it. 

And he could prove it.

♠ ♠ ♠

Two weeks later, Oswald turned to him at breakfast over the morning newspaper. “Dr. Andrews, isn’t he the therapist you went to see?”

“Yes, why?” Ed asked with his most innocent face plastered over his threatening smirk.

“He’s dead.” Oswald stated. “It looks like he’d been having affairs with his patients for years and when his wife found out, she murdered him.”

“Pity.” Ed buried his grin in his tea and recalled Mrs. Andrews’ scowl when he’d told her. “Such a pity.”

♠ ♠ ♠

“Ed, you’re here again?”

“I’m afraid Dr. Andrews is dead,” Ed couldn’t be bothered quelling his grin. “I don’t suppose you’d consider giving this another go?”

Lee frowned at him. “Do I want to ask?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” Ed shrugged. 

Lee sighed. “Fine, sit down. I’ll make tea and we can talk.”

Soon, they were facing each other in their stools, steaming cups in hands.

“I want to discuss some ground rules with you,” Lee began, “And after that, I will decide whether I’m prepared to go through with this.”

“Okay,” Ed nodded, having expected something like this.

“For one, we can’t keep meeting here,” She gestured around the M.E. room, “For one, your skin goes at least three shades whiter everytime you walk in here, and it’s also my workplace. I don’t want any complications. Jim and I are already on thin ice as it is.”

“From what I remember, he deserves it,” Ed snorted. “But I think meeting somewhere else would make sense. What else?”

“I’m allowed to talk to one person about anything you say if it’s troubling me.” Ed immediately opened his mouth to protest but Lee halted him. “I mean it, Ed. Therapists get to talk to other therapists about their patients. I deserve the same right whether I’m licenced or not.”

“I suppose,” Ed sighed, lips twisting. “It won’t be anyone I know?”

“God, no,” Lee scoffed, “And I swear to never mention you by name.”

“I guess that’s okay then,” Ed huffed.

“And if either of us feel like this isn’t working, we stop. I don’t need unnecessary stress right now.” Lee massaged her temples.

Ed frowned. “It’s weird seeing you here.”

“How so?” Lee’s dark eyes scrutinized him and he shrugged.

“It just feels like you don’t belong here anymore.”

Lee’s lips pressed together. “You might be right. But this is supposed to be about you, remember?”

“I find that most things tend to be about me.” He smirked as Lee laughed.

“Sure they are.” She finally took a sip of her tea. “So, shall we start?”

Ed nodded. “Let’s.” He sipped his tea too, the temperature just cool enough to be drinkable.

Lee took another sip before smoothing her hair back from her face. “Now what would you like to talk about first?”

“Well, lately there’s only been one thing on my mind,” Ed began, adjusting his glasses.

“What’s that?”

“Oswald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is really more of an establishing chapter, but I really hope you all enjoyed it <3
> 
> Next chapter will be from Oswald's POV, but apart from that.... lord knows what'll happen.
> 
> Anyway, please kudos and comment and have a wonderful week!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter from Oswald's perspective. I'm planning to keep alternating POVs for now :)
> 
> For reference, it's been a couple weeks since the events of the last chapter.
> 
> There is a character in this chapter who was in the original fic (Chapter 7), so if you haven't read it yet, go read now!
> 
> Apart from that, I would just like to say I only just finished writing this yesterday and I am very tired so hopefully there's no mistakes. 
> 
> Ever feel like you had more to say, but can't remember it?
> 
> Oh well.

Oswald stood in a field of green, surrounded by rocks. Rain dripped from his fringe, gathering on the tip of his nose and above his upper lip. It careened down his back, somehow bypassing his layers of coat, vest, shirt and singlet. Blinking the water from his eyes, he glanced around the rocky field again. A patch of flowers were growing in front of a rock nearby, their white heads struggling to stay afloat in the rain. Little lights drowning in the dark. Strange. Tilting his head, he walked forward and knelt before them.

He realized belatedly that the flowers weren’t growing there at all. Rather, they had been placed to lean against the flatstone as if in some kind of commemoration. Oswald frowned, looking up at the stone.

HERE LIES 

GERTRUDE KAPELPUT

He gasped like gunfire, flinching back from the stone, but he kept reading.

AND HER LOVING SON, 

OSWALD COBBLEPOT

Lightning forked in the sky, transforming the graveyard into shadows and stars.

_Graveyard. This is a graveyard._

Oswald stumbled to his feet as his ankles sank into the ground, the steadily pouring rain turning the grass and dirt into mud and slosh. He pressed forward, dragging up the earth with the tips of his boots. Up ahead, a silhouette knelt before another stone, and it wasn’t until another flash of lightning illuminated his features that Oswald understood who it was.

“Edward?”

Ed was speaking, but the words were trampled by the rain. His hands clutched something; a bundle of lilies, and Oswald’s heart thumped as he watched the man drown them in the sludge, burying their pearly heads.

“Edward, stop that.” He clutched his elbow, tearing his arms away from the flowers, but the damage had been done and the once pristine petals were now worn and soaked. “God, you ruined it. You’ve always got to fucking ruin it.”

Ed turned to him, water behind his lenses like tears. “You remember, don’t you? I knew you would.” Lightning flashed again, but it was dimmer, perhaps further away.

Oswald shook his head, ears ringing. “Ed, I’m just–” He’d reached out his hand, but Ed recoiled from his grasp, face ashen. “Ed?” Water clogged his throat. He stepped forward, attempting to take Ed’s hand, but the movement seemed to push Ed further away. Again, he stepped forward, walked, ran, but each stride, Ed flew further out of reach. 

“Ed, _please._ ” Oswald’s heart was screaming now, his breaths ragged as he sprinted forward. The periphery of his vision was beginning to darken, and Oswald looked side to side and realized he was in the woods again. Gotham woods. Pain bled through his shoulder and he began to limp, stumbling on each step. That’s right; he had a limp, didn’t he? How had his body forgotten?

Ed’s figure had disappeared completely now, and the woods continued to drain of light, not even the distant flicker of lightning aiding his sight.

He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes and bring brightness back to the world. Still, the shadows grew, until he opened his eyes to nothing but _**black**_.

“No.” He blinked again, willing himself to see the forest floor, the trees, the blood, _anything_. “No, not again, please, not again.” He stumbled forward, his arms stretched out, the rough bark of passing trees cutting into his palms. “Please, just let me see, I need to see, I can’t see.” He didn’t know who he was begging to, but he couldn’t stay blind like this, not again.

_Not again._

Eventually, he could walk no further, falling to his knees. Resigning himself to the perpetual black, he hunched forward, clutched his hands to his head, over his eyes, remaining crouched in place.

Every muscle beneath his skin trembled, paper flags caught in a gail.

“Nightmare?”

He opened his eyes and he could see again. Ed knelt on the side of the bed and Oswald sighed in relief. He was in Ed’s apartment, of course, had been for the past few weeks. “Must’ve been,” he answered Ed’s hanging question and accepted the cup of tea held out in the man’s hands. “Did I wake you, friend?” He frowned. For some reason, the word didn’t taste the same as he remembered.

Still, Ed responded eagerly. “I was awake anyway. I’ve been working on something.”

Oswald raised an eyebrow. “What?” He took a swallow of the tea. He didn’t recognise the flavour, but it registered as warm and made him smile.

“I’m afraid it’s a surprise.” Ed grinned and Oswald rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.” He shuffled along the bed, making space. “Hop in already.”

Ed did so, mumbling something under his breath.

“What was that?” Oswald frowned, taking another sip.

“Stay,” Ed replied, matter of fact.

“Huh?” Oswald shook his head, mishearing him.

“Stay,” Ed repeated. “Stay.”

“I… I don’t…” But Ed continued, lying down with the word continuing to form on his lips.

“Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.”

At last, Oswald just shrugged. Something was pricking at his brain, like he was supposed to be realizing something, or discovering something, or maybe remembering something? But it was getting increasingly difficult to pay attention.

“Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.”

Oswald sighed, closing his eyes. “Sure. I’ll stay.”

♠ ♠ ♠

Oswald ascended from sleep to wakefulness sluggishly, twitches in his eyebrows and fingertips like the starting beats of a favourite song. At last, he opened his eyes, and sighed in relief.

He still wasn’t used to it. Over a month and he still dreaded to find only blackness behind his eyes. He couldn’t imagine a time where the mere sight of his bedroom ceiling wouldn’t put him at ease.

He stirred, sitting up in bed, hissing at the ache in his back. He blinked at his bed covers, mind blanking for a moment, still stuck in start-up mode. A word flashed across his mind: Stay.

_Stay._

He shook his head, clearing it. Dreams don’t have to mean anything. Especially ones like that. It was surprising though; ever since the day he learnt the truth about everything, he hadn’t dreamt once. At least, if he had, he didn’t remember any of them.

What about this dream was so important that he needed to remember?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

No, it was probably induced by boredom, or just minds being minds, imagination running. It wasn’t as if anything had changed.

Oswald pulled himself from the bed, gathered his robe around himself, checked the bedside clock to see how long he would have to wait until Olga served breakfast.

Of course, one thing had changed. Edward had changed.

Ever since the new therapy situation had begun with Lee, he had been… different. Less demanding. Less persistent. Still friendly, but he hadn’t asked Oswald about their situation for a while. Hadn’t asked to kiss him or sleep with him. Ed even seemed a little happier. Lighter maybe. And perhaps that was it. Oswald didn’t want Ed happy. 

Not until he decided he was allowed to be.

♠ ♠ ♠

“I’ll take that.” The hem of Oswald’s Dressing gown brushed the back of his legs as he reached up to swipe the newspaper from Edward’s hands before he could open it.

“I was reading that!” He squawked, pouting miserably.

“You weren’t reading it, you were _going_ to read it,” Oswald scoffed, taking his place diagonally from him.

“And that makes a difference?” Ed had clearly already lost interest, but he was eternally stubborn and determined to win the fight.

“As the, supposedly, smarter man in the room, I’m sure you know better than I that it, in fact, does,” Oswald replied, effectively winning.

Ed made a sound like a verbal eyeroll and looked away.

Glancing at him over the top of the newspaper, Oswald flipped through it, pages rustling. There, that’s what he was looking for: the gossip column. Nasty little thing.

Shooting Edward another glance, he began discreetly folding the page inward. Clearing his throat, he glanced over to see what Ed was eating. “Really, Edward? Muesli?” It was a well known fact, or at least well known to Oswald, that Edward was rather defensive over his choice breakfast cereal. Thus, Ed was sufficiently distracted as Oswald finished folding away the gossip column and slipped it into his pocket.

“–And for another thing, there are no added colours or flavours! Do you know how processed food is these days? It is ideal that a breakfast should be high in protein and low in–”

“Yes, dear,” Oswald smiled with teeth as he offered the newspaper. “You can have this back now; I’ve read the weather report.

Ed mumbled a little to himself before selecting a terse “Thank you” and opening the newspaper to read.

♠ ♠ ♠

Rumours grow roots that sink down and swerve, grasping through soil until they find other life, wrap around and choke it.

They suffocate; air and soil, try to erase goodness when they see it.

Rumours are loose lips and Oswald was a Titanic.

“Everything okay, sir?”

Oswald jolted, sprung around to defend himself against his attacker, but found only Mr. Penn: A new addition to his loyal staff. Although seemingly above-board and decent, he was in fact ex-Falcone and as cunning as they come.

“I’m fine, Penn, just…” He glanced back at the wall of newspaper clippings he’d been examining, “I’m just thinking.” Not that he had to explain himself. There wasn’t anything wrong with staring at a wall of articles. Especially since they were all about him. Him and someone else.

“Is Mr. Nygma aware that you have this… display, sir?” Oswal turned and scowled at the man, satisfied when those brown eyes widened behind his glasses.

“What does it matter if he knows or doesn’t?” Oswald sniffed. “But it will matter a great deal if you tell him.” He took a step forward. “Or even threaten to tell him.”

Mr. Penn took a hasty step back. It was in this way that he truly was intelligent; he knew well enough not to go causing trouble where trouble shouldn’t be caused. “Oh, no, sir,” he gushed, raising his hands, “My loyalty to you would never allow me to do such a thing.” Such clever, manipulative words, carved into something pleasing, but Oswald peered through nonetheless to be sure there was nothing lurking beneath.

“Your flattery about loyalty is meant to assure me?” He raised an eyebrow.

Now Mr. Penn really did seem scared. “Please, sir, I didn’t mean to agitate you, your secrets are safe with me, I have no cause to disobey you.”

“That’s more like it.” Oswald smirked. “What did you come in here for, anyway?” He glanced around the office.

“Oh, just to remind you of the Grey’s dinner party tomorrow night. And to let you know everything has arrived from the tailor.”

“Good. Has it been sent to the house?”

“I believe so,” Penn confirmed.

“Perfect.” Oswald turned back to the wall, eyes skimming the words in front of him.

“MAYOR COBBLEPOT AND HIS CHIEF OF STAFF”

“MORE THAN EMPLOYER/EMPLOYEE?”

“THE MAYOR AND HIS BOYTOY”

“MAYOR BRINGS DATE TO BALL”

“UNEXPECTED ROMANCE BETWEEN THE MAYOR AND HIS CHIEF OF STAFF”

“CHIEF OF MORE THAN JUST HIS STAFF”

“SIGHTING OF THE NEW, RUMOURED COUPLE”

“WITNESS SAYS “THEY WERE PRESSED TOGETHER INTIMATELY”

“I SAW THEM KISS”

“WHAT GOES ON BEHIND THE CLOSED DOORS OF THE KAPELPUT MANSION?”

“THE QUESTION IS; WHICH ONE IS THE BOSS IN THE BEDROOM?”

“WILL WE EVER KNOW THE TRUTH?”

Oswald’s eyes slid shut and he sighed. Without looking, he pulled the curtain back over the display to lay it to rest for now.

Resigned, he made his way back to his desk. But he was under no illusion that within the hour, he’d be staring at the wall once more.

♠ ♠ ♠

Arriving home at the end of the day used to be a benign occurrence, ingrained in normality as much as brushing his teeth or closing his eyes to sleep. Now, however, it gave a new sense of pride, reminding him of what he’d accomplished when he saw, _saw_ , the great Van Dahl Manor rise up ahead, light pouring through the windows, spilling like orange water over the concrete drive. 

Oswald smiled, carefully extricating himself from the car to make his way up the steps and inside. He was quickly engulfed in warm heat that told him several fireplaces had been lit and the new heating system he’d installed for the winter was switched on too.

On nights when he was dining out, he requested a tray in his room of tea and a small snack to tide him over to the next meal, and he found just that when he flung the doors open and made for the side table. The tea was jasmine and sneakily sweet; if Olga ever gave away his penchant for sweet, hot tea he’d have to find a new maid to clean her blood off the floor. Next to the tea was an assortment of sandwiches and, strangely enough, a small plate of carefully frosted cookies, each adorned with large, green question-marks.

“Edward?” Oswald called loudly. Perhaps most people would not hear him in a house this large, but Ed was almost hound-like at times with his ability to hear Oswald call his name no matter which room he was in. It was almost dangerous to have that power, and Oswald was often tempted with how he might take advantage, but he hadn’t ventured into it as of yet. He was sure the perfect scheme would come sooner or later.

Ed appeared in his doorway, leaning over like a sunflower stalk in wilt. “Yes?”

“Did you make these?” he gestured to the plate of cookies.

“Yes.” He frowned, eyebrows disappearing behind the rim of his glasses. “Why?”

“Are they poisoned?” 

Ed’s eyebrows shot up. “No…” He tilted his head. “Do you want them to be poisoned?”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “I just want to know why you made them.”

“Oh,” Ed’s features relaxed and he stepped into the room, “It was Lee’s idea actually. I was talking to her about how I wanted to have more to do outside of work. She suggested getting a hobby. Quite a common thing, actually!”

“You astonish me,” Oswald deadpanned.

“Anyway,” Ed continued, “We talked about my interests, and since she insisted that I couldn’t create a quiz show that involves various murder punishments to the loser,” he sighed dreamily as if still considering embarking on the concept, “I decided I might give baking a try.” Ed shrugged. “I thought you might like a taste.”

Oswald glanced down at the plate of cookies. They did look rather nice. And he was feeling peckish. “Well, I suppose I could try one.” Venturing forward, he plucked one of the neon coloured treats from the plate, biting through the question-mark without remorse. He quickly identified the cookie as shortbread and couldn’t help but smile as the sugar and butter coated his tongue. Delicious.

“How is it?” Ed was clearly feigning modesty, but Oswald could tell from the smirk pulling at his lips and the sparkle in his eye that he knew what he’d made was excellent and he was just waiting for Oswald to say so.

“I suppose I am okay with baking being your new hobby,” Oswald replied at last, licking his lips as his hand reached for another. “Let me know if you need a taste-tester when you get to croissants. I may know someone happy to oblige.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ed teased with a grin, “I may have that spot reserved for somebody else.”

“I don’t suppose my knife could make any objections,” Oswald quipped back.

“Well, I’m sure it can be persuasive.” As the conversation abruptly dropped off, Oswald realized how normal they had been for a moment. Like their old selves, teasing, maybe even flirting, no rush, at ease in one another’s company. It was warm. Like they had their own private heating system installed for the winter.

But that kind of thing shouldn’t last, especially with Oswald’s brain coming back online. Was there a neurological term for a mental clearing-of-the-throat? Turning, Oswald flicked his gaze across the room to the tailor bag hanging by the closet.

“Care to assist me?” he asked the air, prowling toward the bag. He didn’t have to look back. Ed would follow.

“If it would help,” was his answer.

Ed had a way about him as he helped, lingering stares sinking into Oswald’s skin before he snapped to attention, ripping his gaze away with enough strength to tear seams.

Oswald basked in the raised blush on Ed’s cheeks, working to keep his expression neutral as Ed moved around him. Served him right. This was for all the times Oswald had been caught in the brush of Ed’s fingers, those nervous heart beats he’d suffered as Ed straightened his lapels, the flutter of his eyelashes as Ed knelt to help him into his shoes. Now Ed _had_ to understand how it felt. He _had_ to know the whole of it.

Was his heart beating wildly too? Did his mind stray and snag on images of their bodies intertwined, connected and unbreakable. Did he think of every hopeful moment, every sign that maybe, _maybe_ , Ed loved him back?

No, no, Ed didn’t have hope. Oswald had extinguished that, hadn’t he? What a shame. He couldn’t understand, then. Not truly. Not without hope.

Hope is a tease that strings out even the shortest of daydreams. Without it, moving on is easy.

Perhaps that was why Ed had begun to spend more time with Dr. Thompkins. Why waste time on a hopeless romance?

Whereas a hopeful one…

“It’s a pity–” Ed started at the sudden sound of his voice, looking up to meet his gaze, “I don’t have a plus-one for this dinner.” He raised his eyebrow at Ed, pausing heavily.

“Well, yes, I suppose that is a shame,” Ed frowned, his eyes darting about like he wasn’t sure what to make of Oswald’s statement. “I would offer to go, but I’m meeting Lee tonight.”

_Of course, he is._

Oswald cleared his throat. “Lee?” 

“Dr. Thompkins,” Ed quickly clarified.

“I wasn’t aware your therapy meetings went so late.”

“They don’t.” Ed’s eyes widened and he quickly glanced away, guilty as ever.

“Is that so?”

“Well, you see, we’re meeting for dinner. I would have invited you but…” Ed trailed off.

“But what?” Oswald hadn’t meant the question to sound so sharp, but didn’t bother to apologize when Ed flinched.

“But… I thought you were busy. Which you are,” Ed pointed out. Then he laughed. “I don’t know why we’re talking about this.”

“No. Neither do I.” Oswald turned away. “I can do the rest myself.”

“Are you sure?” He couldn’t see Ed’s face but he hoped he looked as guilty as he deserved to be.

“Absolutely. Hurry along now. I wouldn’t want you to be late.”

“O-okay.” The sound of the door closing behind him thundered in the room.

Oswald met his own eyes in the mirror.

“I am not jealous,” he told himself. “I am not jealous.”

 _I am not jealous_. In the back of the car, tapping his fingers impatiently against the head of his cane as they navigated traffic through the diamond district.

 _I am not jealous._ As he made his way up the stairs unaccompanied, no one and nothing to lean on but his cane.

 _I am not jealous._ As he was surrounded by couples and turned to the side to find no one to talk to. For God’s sake, how pathetic. He should’ve invited that Mr. Penn or _somebody_ substantial, if only not to be so–”

“Alone tonight?” Oswald turned around, glare already charged to be directed at whoever brought up his lonely plight. He found himself face to face with some stranger with a moustache and a young girl hanging off his arm.

“Is that how you make an introduction?” Oswald questioned coldly.

“You mean you don’t remember me?” The man guffawed, turning his head to make sure his date tittered as well.

“I suppose your voice is _vaguely_ familiar.” It was familiar, in fact, although with the amount of time he spent not seeing and only hearing people, he could be anyone.

“The name’s Robert Carson,” He stuck his free hand in the air between them.

“ _Doctor_ Robbie Carson,” The girl on his arm giggled as she swayed, sticking her hand out also.

And, yes, now Oswald did recognize the name, typed in Times New Roman and Arial Black under countless bylines and quotes from the great Dr. Carson. _“Oh, yes, they entered the ballroom hand in hand.” “Yes, they sat together at the table.” “Oh, the face Nygma made when he heard what happened.” “He was hysterical.” “I suppose it makes sense; only two people as odd as they are would want each other.”_

“Dr. Carson.” Oswald smiled with teeth. “What experimental surgery did you perform to get invited to this shindig?”

The man laughed, then elbowed the girl to make her join in. “Actually, it’s funny you say that,” Carson leant in, teeth bared in a grin, “‘Cause I was just wondering where your weird little friend is.”

Oswald flinched, snarling, “I suppose you are referring to _Edward._ ”

The doctor shrugged noncommittally, then grinned over at his date who continued to sway on her feet. Oswald continued to glare until the man spoke again, nudging him rudely. “Come on, then, where is he?”

“He couldn’t make it,” Oswald snapped. “It’s none of your business anyway.” Oswald ground his teeth, remembering Ed’s plans for tonight. Dinner with a _doctor_. Like the universe was out to spite him.

Dr. Carson guffawed, encouraging his date to laugh once more. “Now, now, Mr. Mayor, you’re not saying your boyfriend has better things to do than spend time with you.”

Oswald narrowed his eyes. “I think you’ll find I didn’t say that at all.”

Dr. Carson's grin didn’t falter. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a little defensive. Thou doth protest too much or whatever.” He laughed again. “What’s the problem? Trouble in paradise?”

Oswald licked his lips, glaring daggers. “Wow, Dr. Carson. You certainly know how to make assumptions. I worry for your patients. Do you even bother to ask their symptoms before you write the diagnosis on their foreheads in permanent ink?”

“Oh, certainly defensive!” He exclaimed, not bothering to mask the harshness in his voice any longer. “So sorry to see you’ve lost your man, but at least there’s a bright side; he’s well shot of you.”

“I haven’t lost _anything_ ,” Oswald hissed through his teeth, narrowly resisting the urge to sink them in the filthy man’s throat.

“Oh, yeah.” And suddenly the smile was gone and there was just the man’s icy blue eyes staring back at him. “Then where is he?”

 _Don’t lose this. Don’t lose this._ Oswald formed fists with hands, searching desperately for a reply, but his silence had already admitted defeat for him. The Doctor laughed one more time, shaking his head.

“Come on, Olivia. Let me get you one last glass of champagne.” He pulled her closer against his hip and they walked away.

Smoke was spilling through the cracks in the overcrowded room, threatening to choke Oswald out. The guests seemed so unaware.

Grinding his teeth, he stalked to the nearest table overflowing with glasses and snatched one for each hand, swallowing down first one then the other. The glasses threatened to splinter in his harsh grip, but he released them quickly, snatching up two more.

Obviously, although his actions were currently contradicting the statement, Oswald was fine. He was used to stuffy-nosed, egotistical assholes talking utter _shit_ to provoke him. But Oswald wouldn’t let himself be provoked! And he was keen to drink at least another four glasses to make sure of it.

Really, they should change the alcohol content in champagne if they’re going to keep serving it at these things.

Guests were ushered into a dining room at the stroke of 8pm and Oswald waded his way to his seat with the help of his cane. After ordering his third drink in 15 minutes, the man beside him, who started off looking sixty but ended up closer to forty by the end of the night, crooked his fingers for him to lean closer then passed a flask beneath the table. Oswald drank the lot and ignored the sour look the 40-60 year old gave him in return.

Oswald’s steak dinner tried desperately to soak up some of the juice, but Oswald was determined to remain firmly sloshed by the end of the night.

At some point after dessert was served, a madwoman decided to try to include him in a discussion about _legislation_ of all things. Oswald told her to sod the fuck off, of course, conjuring the image of those hussies mother was always so worried about.

Apparently, this was considered “rude” and “inappropriate” especially from “the mayor” of “the greatest city in America” as if crime didn’t happen here. Anyway, Oswald allowed himself to be escorted to the backseat of his car where he sat for several minutes, simmering in the stew of his own fury.

“Uh… sir?” Charles spoke up eventually, rolling down the partition between them. “Where do you want me to take you?”

“Home” was tipping off his tongue and ready to carreen towards his lips, but Oswald quickly changed his mind. “City hall. And make it quick.”

♠ ♠ ♠

The lights were still on, the midnight cleaning crew making their rounds. Several surprised faces glanced his way as he walked up the stairs and down the hall, but Oswald paid them no mind, focused only on the office door ahead of him. He leant on it as he transferred his cane to his other hand and unlocked the door with his key, stumbling through and almost falling over, catching himself on his desk’s edge at the last moment. Stupid fucking leg. Always ruining things.

Determinedly, Oswald leant on his desk as he made toward the curtain covering his “display”. He ripped it from its rungs and decided he wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

The articles glittered before him, shrieking their nonsense words and spattering lies. Hissing through his teeth, he captured every time that imbecile’s name festered in black ink.

_Dr. Robert Carson, MDD_

Drums pounded in his head as blood boiled.

_Dr. Robert Carson, MDD_

Oswald licked his lips and clenched his hands around the edge of his desk to keep himself from tearing the article’s throat out with his teeth.

_Dr. Robert Carson, MDD_

It would be easy to curl his claws into the paper and drag down. To hear the delicate ripping and make a symphony from the sound.

_Dr. Robert Carson, MDD_

Take a match from its box and set the rumours and their weeds alight.

_Dr. Robert Carson, MDD_

Take one solitary wrench to tighten all those loose lips and send them to the ocean floor where they belonged.

_Dr. Robert Carson, MDD_

Yes. Yes, it would be so easy.

Oswald delicately pinched the first draw pin that held the topmost article in place. He plucked it from the wall.

One by one, pinching and plucking, the wall was cleared, articles folded neatly into an empty folder retrieved from his desk.

Oswald clutched it carefully to his chest as he wobbled back down the stairs and to his car, telling Charles to take him home, at last.

The man, ever so gracious and possibly looking for a tip, helped him up to his bedroom and left him to his own devices. 

Eyelids drooping, he rummaged around until he found a post-it and a permanent marker. Writing out his message, he smiled. Snapped the cap on the pen and threw it into the blurry distance as he stuck the post-it onto the front of the folder and placed it on the table next to him. Yawning around a smile, he rolled onto his back and fell asleep.

The messy handwriting was sure to be hard to read, but the message was clear: 

**_PLAN B_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so. That's something to look forward to next chapter. Kinda hope I write it soon. I kinda wanna see where it's going.
> 
> lmao, I'm tired.
> 
> And/all comments/kudos are <3ed and stuff words etc.
> 
> fuck, Imma go to bed now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda on the short side, especially for me, but we'll be getting into the thick of it after this so it might be nice to have something short for a change!

Ed glanced down at his watch, chewing the inside of his lip. It was edging on the last hours of late morning, slowly creeping towards early noon. Tapping his foot against his chair, he looked up as he heard Olga bustle past the door.

“Olga!” He leaned forward, waving to get her attention. She stood, glowering at him, hands on her hips. “Has Oswald gotten up yet? He didn’t have an early meeting, right?” Ed usually had Oswald’s schedule memorized to the minute, but he may have let himself lapse a little lately. He supposed the odd appointment could’ve slipped his notice.

Olga shook her head. “Net, on vse yeshche v posteli, pokhmel'ye, kak shalun. Chertov pridurok vse yeshche lyubit tebya.”

Ed blinked. “English, Olga.”

She growled, directing her glare at the ceiling, jabbing a finger into the air. “Bed.”

Bed? That was odd. Although Oswald was fully capable of sleeping in for _tremendous_ lengths of time, he tended not to shirk his responsibilities so carelessly in order to do it.

Ed made his way upstairs quickly, heart fluttering in absentminded worriment. Reaching Oswald’s door, he hesitated for a moment. Would it be right to intrude? What if he was still sleeping? Would he wake up to Ed staring at him and get a shock? Possibly (probably) get angry, yell at him… Then all the effort Ed was going to play hard-to-get would be for nothing!

A sudden, choked shout sounded through the door, retching and coughs following quickly in their wake. The doorknob was suddenly turned and disappearing out his hand, feet rushing him to Oswald’s side where he was bent half falling out of bed, clutching at a poster as he vomited on the floor. Ed wrinkled his nose even as he supported Oswald’s body. He was warm to the touch, but not feverishly so. Ed supported him as he finished up, squeezing reflexive tears from his eyes and wiping his mouth crudely with his sleeve. His white sleeve.

The same sleeve Ed had helped him into early evening the day before.

Edward had seen Oswald hungover before. Almost as many times as he’d seen him drunk, in fact. Oswald Cobblepot liked control: And controlling when he got out of control was one of his favourite games. Ed knew this well enough.

Still, it felt weird to see him groggy and nauseous when he hadn’t seen him the night before. Not the kind of surprise Ed really wanted from Oswald.

“Oh, God, it’s happening again.” Ed quickly shoved his thoughts aside and hooked Oswald’s arm over his shoulder, helping him towards the ensuite in a gentle but hasty trajectory. Oswald stumbled forward, out of his grip, leaning over the edge of the bath to empty his guts over the drain.

Ed pulled a face. “The bath, really?”

As if to spite him, Oswald finished up just to spit “I made a _snap_ decision.”

“O-okay.” Ed nodded, stepping back, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Oswald shivered, wrapping his arms around himself in his ruined dress shirt. “Bring me my dressing gown.”

“I can do that.” Ed went back into the room, glancing around until he spotted the dressing gown flung flippantly by the bedside table. Rolling his eyes, he bent and picked it up, shaking away the gathered lint. From the corner of his eye, he spotted something written in large swooping letters.

“Plan B?” Ed muttered, carefully taking the file. It was like the ones they had at city hall. Huh. “Hey, Oswald.”

A groan was his answer.

“What’s this?”

“ _Huh?_ ” How he managed to make one syllable so furious, Ed couldn’t tell you.

He walked back to the bathroom, holding up the file. Oswald narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. “I don’t know…” Ed, shrugged, flipping it open.

“Nygma and Cobblepot,” Ed read aloud, not noticing how Oswald’s eyes went from slits to spheres, “Giving Gotham, and each other, a happy ending.”

“Oh!” Ed glanced at Oswald who stared at him deer-like. “Oh _noo_.”

Ed frowned. “What is this?”

“Well, I was going to tell you…” Oswald swallowed, making a sick face, but Ed was far too distracted to be pitying.

He flipped through the file, delicate pages of newspaper clippings rushing by, and beneath every torrid headline, a date. Yesterday, last week, a fortnight, a month, three months, how long… “You’ve been keeping this from me for…” Ed sputtered, “For _months!_ ”

“I thought… they would upset you!”

“I’m not upset at them, I’m upset at you!” Ed forced his frown to be sterner as he closed the file again. “And genuinely confused what you mean by _this_.” He jabbed a finger at the ‘ _Plan B’._ “What _is_ this?”

“Pfft,” Oswald exhaled loudly, wiping sweat from his brow, “Well, what does it look like to you?”

Ed blinked. “I don’t _know_ , that’s why I’m asking you!”

“Look, Ed,” Oswald carefully took the file from Ed’s hand, “Focus on the big picture here.”

“Which is?”

“The _media!_ ” Oswald rattled the file in his hand.

“The media?” he echoed.

“Yes; the media!” Oswald nodded, almost to himself, “All it took was one lousy date to a charity ball and suddenly we’re all these gossip columns have raved about for weeks! People are _gagging_ to know more, to learn our secrets, to share our limelight!”

Ed swallowed. “So what are you suggesting, exactly?”

Oswald licked his lips slowly then shrugged, “Give the people what they want. But _we_ control the story. If we do nothing, well, the rumours will continue anyway. We… Might as well take advantage while we can.”

Ed frowned. “Well, I suppose it is a rare opportunity for some good publicity. We could even make front-page news.” Oswald nodded agreeably before clutching his head with a wince. “So what do you want me to do? Organize a press conference to announce–”

“No, of course not,” Oswald interrupted, leaning against the bath as if he wasn’t quite sure if he might throw up again. “If we make it official, people will lose interest quicker than a prom date spotting her boyfriend’s Transformers boxers during a slow dance.”

“What a scenario,” Ed muttered.

“What I mean is; if we want to take full advantage of the situation, and I mean _full_ advantage, we can’t stop the rumour mill. We have to feed and water it to guide it gently towards our intended outcome.”

“Which is?”

Oswald tapped his fingers against the tub contemplatively. “That’s what the next few months are for; finding out.”

Ed nodded. It was all coming together in his head; the perfect plan. The perfect lie.

“But, Ed…” Oswald reached over to play with his collar, a blush rising centimetre’s from his skin, “If you don’t want to do this, I completely understand. It could prove difficult given our history.” The words were spoken almost coquettishly, daring Ed to disagree, flirting with any misgivings he might’ve had.

“No!” Ed insisted, “No, I would love…” Except Oswald had a point. Ed had been struggling with it all lately; the proximity, the tiptoeing between friendship and _something else_. Lee had advised him to try keep some distance, create some boundaries, but this would go directly against that.

But, in the end, his mind strayed back to what this could mean, _“Feeding the rumour mill,”_ and, somehow, sacrificing Lee’s good opinion was worth that. “I would love to. It’s a deal.” 

“Good.” Oswald leaned forward and they shook hands, Oswald’s slightly clammy.

“I do have one question, though.”

“Hmm?” Oswald hummed distractedly, carefully positioning himself over the bath like something might be arriving shortly.

“What was Plan A?”

“W-what.” Oswald shivered and coughed.

Ed pointed to the permanent-marker scribble. “If this was Plan B, what was Plan A?”

“Um, well…” Oswald coughed again, “Ignoring it, of course! L-like you said.”

“Right…” Ed nodded.

“Right!” Oswald chirped. “Now would you be a dear and get me that dressing gown, I’m freezing here.”

“Oh, yes, sorry, of course.” Ed rushed back into the bedroom.

Huh. A plan. The two of them… feeding rumours. Ed was pretty sure he knew what that meant. It meant spending time together, parading a romance that didn’t exist, selling fabricated secrets.

But what that meant to _Oswald..._ Ed couldn’t figure that out for the life of him.

♠ ♠ ♠

“So, how do you feel about it?” 

Ed pursed his lips, watching as Lee eyed him carefully. Over the past few weeks, the more time he spent ~~avoiding Oswald~~ getting to know her, the more she seemed to be able to read him like a book.

“Ed?”

Ed looked away. “I think I really want it,” he admitted to the carpet, “The whole idea just… gives me hope.” He looked up at her, tongue between his teeth, praying she’d understand. “I want it _too_ much, Lee. It could only mean trouble. No matter what, I’ll just… end up disappointed.”

She nodded, stirring her tea. “I get that. You have high expectations, so it’s easy for things to fall below the mark.”

“Exactly,” he sighed, unclenching his fists. “I know what I want but I don’t think I could actually get it. It’s entirely irrational.”

Lee nodded, humming softly. “What if we were to work on that?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, chest tightening. 

“Well, it’s possible we could learn to… not exactly lower your expectations, but learn to perhaps apply more… realistic expectations. Or, in some situations, no expectations at all. How does that sound?”

“People can really do that?” It didn’t seem very realistic.

“Some people do.” Lee nodded. “It can certainly help change people’s perspective on their life.”

He shook his head. “How?”

She sighed, uncrossing her legs and setting her tea down. Ed knew this meant she was about to share something personal and he was to listen carefully. “I used to have a lot of expectations. More on myself than on others. I always felt… like I had to be the kindest, or the best dressed, or the perfect girlfriend.” She sighed again, rolling her eyes. “The more expectations I put on myself, the more pressure I felt and the more anxious and upset I was when I struggled to meet those expectations.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “But now, I try to be more realistic. It’s okay not to look your best all the time, it’s okay to show your ‘less favourable’ side, it’s okay to be human.” She suddenly grabbed his hand, rooting him to the spot. “That goes for other people, too. It’s okay for them to be human.”

Ed pursed his lips: yes and no.

“And it’s okay if this ‘plan’ doesn’t lead where you want it to go.” She let go of him, leaning back in her chair and grabbing her tea to take a sip. “I mean, you’ve heard that Robert Frost poem, right?”

Ed frowned. “The Road Less Travelled?”

Lee nodded. “That’s the one.”

“I suppose, in this case, you’re saying that the ‘road less travelled by’ would be the one... without him?” It made his throat dry just thinking about it.

“I know it’s not ideal,” she admitted, stirring her tea, “But life can still be fulfilling, whichever path you end up on.”

“So, I shouldn’t expect anything from this?” he questioned.

Lee shrugged. “Maybe it’s best not to. I mean, the only thing you have control over in this situation is yourself. I don’t think you can do anything to sway things one way or the other. You just have to keep on walking ahead in the dark and see which path you end up on. And if you need help accepting that path, well that’s what I’m here for.”

“Okay,” Ed nodded, “Okay.”

♠ ♠ ♠

“So, have you thought about it?” It was the question written on Oswald’s face for the past hour, screaming excruciatingly loud as they went through the motions of finishing up work and going downstairs to await the car. Now, behind the safety of stained glass and Charles’ discrete ears, the question was shoved onto Ed’s plate and it was time to either dig in or pretend he wasn’t hungry.

“Well,” he swallowed.

No expectations. No expectations. This could go anywhere, and that’s okay.

“I think it could work.” There, he said it. Jumped into the deep end and everything.

“Good,” Oswald hummed. “We begin Monday.”

_Monday._

Ed nodded and hoped, hoped, _hoped_ he wasn’t making a big mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well.
> 
> Theories and wishes are welcome in the comment section! What should happen next?


End file.
